


A Look Inside

by the_ragnarok



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Body Image, Masturbation, Other, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-04
Updated: 2011-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Raven jerked off pretending to be someone else, one time she didn't, and one time she did it as herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Look Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) , for the "bodies and body parts" square. Beta'd by the very, very lovely [immortal_crow](http://immoral_crow.livejournal.com).

**0\. Raven**

Her bed is large enough to fit five of her. In a rare fit of whimsy, she changes into a woman she saw on the bus a few nights before, so big she barely fit into her seat. She fits fine in the bed, though, feels right in place there. Raven stays like that for a while, because she's warm and clean and fed in a huge foreign house, and being larger is comforting.

She can't fall asleep, so she slips her hand between her legs in mindless habit. If you lie _just so_ , and place your hand _just like this_ , you can make yourself feel good and nobody can tell as long as you wash your hand after. She doesn't think about anything in particular.

After a few minutes it's too warm under the blankets. The room has the unbelievable luxury of a lock, so Raven throws the blankets away. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark already: she leans up on her elbow and looks at herself with interest. She wonders where her girl-parts come from, in this body. She's never seen the woman's privates. How does her body know? Maybe she's just making this up.

As she looks, her form wavers, and she sees a flash of blue skin, mottled fingers moving on it. It doesn't feel good anymore. She stops, and punches her pillow.

Weeks pass before Raven can just go to sleep in Charles' house.

 **1\. Charles**

She shouldn't be doing this. Even ignoring the moral question here, Charles will know. She bites her lip.

But Charles _promised_. He won't go into her mind without her permission. If Raven can't trust him, who can she trust?

Not even herself. Which is the main problem. If Raven were trustworthy, she wouldn't steal Charles' form to play with, to do things Charles wouldn't want her to see.

 _But it's not fair_ , wails a small voice inside her. Charles can see all her most private thoughts, even if he's not interested in them; she, who wants to see him, see all of him, so very badly, can't. Shouldn't.

Does.

He bought her the mirror she's looking at right now, the one hanging at the corner of her room in his parents' house. The skin in the mirror is pale, soft and unscarred. Blue eyes, full red lips.

Raven touches her lips, _Charles'_ lips, and _wants_.

 **2\. Hank**

Raven has come to the sad, sad understanding that she has a Type, and that type is geeky, soft-mouthed guys who won't give her the time of day.

She likes Hank, fucking tease though he is. He'll let her sit in his lap or sprawl over him when they're sitting on the couch together, bullshitting with the other young mutants.

That's such an odd thought, _other young mutants._ It's been so long since there's been anyone but her and Charles, who calls her a sister and means it. It must be better for him, a load off his shoulders. Here, some other freaks to keep his adopted freak company.

She hates to admit it, but it's a relief for her, too. She loves Charles, but hates being his charity case, his example to what a Good Mutant should be. (Charles himself doesn't count, of course. Look at him, so handsome, so _normal_. She can barely even imagine anyone calling him a mutant.)

But Hank. With his lush mouth and soft, pretty face, prettier than Raven's own real face ever was. Raven dreams of _licking_ it, biting into pale skin – not hard, just enough to mark, to show what Hank is really like underneath. Raw and vulnerable and hurting. Smarting.

She's sleeping in her old room again, with the same mirror on the wall. She wears Hank effortlessly. It's not the first time she's done this. She's never seen his cock, but she likes her body's idea of it, the thing it shifts into. It's long and skinny, almost small in Hank's hand. She loves his fingers.

Jerking off as a guy feels pretty much the same as it does as a girl, only with a better view. A dick and a clit feel a lot alike. Maybe that's just how her brain makes it work, though.

(She's thought about asking Charles, before, but it never got to more than a thought. Thank God for promises kept.)

She spreads her legs a bit and cradles her balls with her other hand, rubbing them, the hair coarse against her palm. Rubs her fingers behind them, hesitant. Doing it to her own body feels good, pressing halfway between her openings. It never felt very good when she did it as Charles, when she did it as other men she saw and wanted. In this form, though, it feels like something lighting up inside her, makes every jerk of her hand on her cock feel intensified.

Hank's face in the mirror isn't beautiful, twisted in pleasure, but it calls to something in her nevertheless. It makes her gasp and close her eyes, spill over the mirror and over her own hand. When she opens them, she still sees Hank, covered in spunk. Her cock twitches.

She gives herself a long moment to watch this picture. She briefly transforms Hank's feet, to make this normal, to see if she can make herself want something ordinary.

Turns out she can't. With his feet changed, Hank just looks wrong. She changes them back.

 **3\. Erik**

It's part vengeance and part petulance and part hurt feelings that Raven would never admit to, but it feels awfully satisfying. And in her defense, the guy did just kiss her, then leave her to her own devices.

Something petty and horrible in Raven wonders if Erik went to Charles for comfort ( _for fucking_ , the mean voice whispers), leaving her here. The ugly sister, now and always. Even if Erik claimed she was prettiest as she was.

So she doesn't bother feeling guilty about it, wearing Erik's scars and his handsome face and his cock, pulling on it until she spunks all over his bed.

 **4\. Emma**

It was better when it was Charles. That, Raven could at least understand. Frost, though, sets Raven's teeth on edge, and not just because her diamond-form's voice sounds like fingernails on glass.

Erik listens to Raven. He talks to her and he doesn't just pat her on the head and send her to bed like Charles used to; but he ignores her when she comes on to him, every time. Him and every fucking guy.

Fuck it; Raven is ugly. There. She said it. She knows she is. Fuck men if they want to fuck pretty, evil Emma Frost instead. Even if they told her she's pretty just as she is.

Seriously, _fuck_ them.

She changes into Emma's form without locking the door. So what if someone sees? Everyone knows what Emma looks like getting laid. It's half of what she does with her power these days.

It's almost enough to make Raven pity her. Everyone knows that Emma does that, that she'll fool anyone into thinking she's fucking them. Everything for The Cause.

Erik's been looking at Raven too, lately. With something like actual desire, so it can't be about Raven. Must be about The Cause. Perhaps soon Erik will ask it of her, too - "Pretend to be some general's wife," maybe, or maybe, "This guy has a fantasy, go fulfil it."

But he hasn't asked. Yet.

Coming as Emma Frost is brief and frustratingly unfulfilling. Raven could be mean and say that probably explains some things, but she's pretty sure she's just projecting.

 **5\. Azazel**

She flees into her room and locks the door. Only then does she allow herself to shake.

It's stupid. Raven's had guys hit on her. What is she so freaked out about?

 _Never in my real form_ , she thinks, and hides her face in the pillow.

There's a moment where she comes close to wallowing in self-pity, _only the ugly freaks want me as I am, ugh_. Then she snaps out of it.

She's looked like Azazel before, worn his shape to play decoy for a mission. He's easy to slip into, maybe more so than most, easy to hold. She takes her tail, Azazel's tail, in her hand. It's muscular, quick and strong. She's seen him kill men with it innumerable times.

Raven watches herself in the mirror, watches Azazel stroking himself off. He's badly scarred and thickly muscled. A survivor. It's not what she usually looks for in a man, but where did _that_ get her? Maybe she needs to start looking at different things.

 **6\. Mystique**

She brings the chair close to the mirror, sits and spreads her legs. The lights are on, harsh and bright. There's nothing in here that she shouldn't know.

Her pussy is a darker blue inside, her labia mottled with soft spikes. Her inner lips are glistening wet. They feel good when she touches them. Always did. Now she's working on thinking it looks good, too.

It shouldn't matter – it _shouldn't_ fucking matter if she's pretty. She can kill men now with her bare hands, she's sprung Erik out of jail more than once. Compared to that, who the fuck cares what her pussy looks like?

 _I do,_ she thinks, and she rubs her clit. It's large, larger than it is in almost every feminine form she's ever taken. She likes that now, likes that it reminds her of hard greedy cock, good to have under her fingers.

She wets her fingers in her mouth and looks at herself. Her lips are the same hue as the rest of her face. Not sexy, except that she has her own taste in her mouth, and her fingers push deeper inside.

She takes them out, back to her pussy. Closes her eyes, because it feels too good to worry about _looking_. She spreads her inner lips with her fingers, awkwardly fucks herself with her other hand, just to get everything nice and wet.

Raven can make herself come three times in quick succession. Doesn't always have the time for that, but when she can, it's fucking amazing.

After she's done, she opens her eyes. It's just her there, sitting in a chair. She goes around naked as often as not these days. Hardly anyone looks at her and thinks of sex, anyway; she's too different, too alien-looking for that.

 _Fuckers don't know what they're missing,_ she thinks, and goes to shower.


End file.
